The forest continued, shrouded in shadow and mist. Branches rose up towards the sky like skeletal fingers, and trees old enough to know the truth leaned forward, whispering on the breeze. Kairos had never been here, not in this life—but his feet remembered. His soul did.
"This was a fortress," Arius said, parting thick cover. "A refuge for our people. Before the Circle made it a hunt ground."
"How long have you been hiding?" Kairos growled.
Arius grinned skeptically. "Long enough. I've watched friends die, souls vanish, chronology come apart. You're my first spark of hope in centuries."
Kairos turned away. His brain had been unraveling strand by strand since they'd left the city behind. He couldn't sleep. To close his eyes unveiled him visions of former lives: a woman and a sword of starlight, a boy and the subduing of lightning with laughter, a blind monk and the quiet which levelled mountains.
All visions had pain—and power.
Arius stopped.
"We're close."
Before them stood an archway of stone littered with vines. They draped its surface, but beneath, ancient symbols pulsed weakly. Kairos took a step forward, and the symbols flared blue when he raised his hand to touch them.
Arius raised an eyebrow. "The sanctuary still remembers you."
The arch itself pulsed with light, and the fog behind it parted like a curtain. There was a stairway that ran back from behind it that curved down into the earth. The air grew colder as they went down, and the scent of old iron and smoke hung in the air.
At the cavern's floor, there lay a wide stretch of cavern—lit with glowing crystals, with pillars created out of obsidian. And in the center, a white-clad individual sat in meditative pose before a statue of an ancient phoenix.
"Master Veyra," Arius said.
"We've arrived."
The figure had opened her eyes—and the air trembled.
Kairos stared. She was less than thirty years old, but her eyes were ancient, ages old. Her voice was gentle, but weighed with prophecy.
"So the Flame has blazed once more," Veyra stated, standing. "You have more than echoes now, Kairos. You have destiny."
Kairos stepped forward. "Then tell me. All of it."
She looked at him for an instant, and nodded. "Then we begin."
With a sweep of her hand, the room shifted. Symbols lit the walls—energy graphs, soul-diagrams, and paths of reincarnation. The phoenix that soared above them glowed with firelight.
"We each have a soul-thread," she said. "It carries over from one life to the next. Most never remember. Reincarnates? We do. We carry over skills, pain, insight, and strength across the centuries."
She touched a burning glyph. "You were once the Flame King—destroyer and redeemer. Before that, a healer. Before that, a thief who stole minutes from death's own fingers."
Kairos frowned. "And the Circle?"
"They were your followers—once. You taught them to balance. But they strayed. They began sealing reincarnates to alter destiny."
"And now they wish to alter me."
"Yes," she replied. "Because you were the First Flame. The spark that lit this cycle. If they capture you, they can put it out."
A shiver ran through the room. Crystal lights cracked.
Arius drew his sword. "They've found us."
Veyra's expression grew stern. "Then the test is here."
She moved into the center of the room and spread her arms. The phoenix statue split in two—revealing a fragment of white burning fire: The Flameheart. A splinter of living soul energy.
She extended it to Kairos.
"This is you—surgically removed long ago to preserve the world. Take it. And recall what you once were."
No sooner had he reached out and touched it than the Flameheart ignited in his chest. Too fiery—to be singed, to be conceived. Images engulfed him:
—a battle of the gods.
—a spire of stars.
—a scream that unraveled reality.
—His own hand… suspending time.
He fell upon his knees, breathless.
But when he rose, suns burned within his eyes.
The Circle soldiers stormed into the room—fifty of them. Their blades vibrated with an anti-soul energy. Their leader, a massive armored warrior, pushed forward.
"Kairos, drop your power," it spoke. "Or we erase you from all realities."
Kairos pushed forward, cloak streaming in flame, and flung out his arms.
"Then do it."
The cavern became a war zone.
Veyra summoned waves of energy, protecting allies. Arius slashed across the ages with his blade. And Kairos—now wielding the Flameheart—advanced like a storm come to life. He remembered all sorts of combat. All sorts of sorcery. All sorts of death—and all sorts of resurrection.
One spy, he stabbed through the chest—and was reduced to ashes by fire.
Another, he let loose a soul-trap—but it faded before it could catch up to him.
In a moment, Kairos strode into ten thousand memories—and became greater than himself.
A myth awoke.
War concluded with fire consuming over broken stone. The Circle's forces were broken. One fled alone—hopping off into darkness, talking into a comm device:
"He's awakened. The First Flame's returned. Report to the Council… war.